


Only For A Moment Ch 1

by The_Word_Witch



Series: Only For A Moment [1]
Category: Bucky - Fandom, Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Eventual Smut, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Protective Bucky Barnes, Smut, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 18:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Word_Witch/pseuds/The_Word_Witch
Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?





	Only For A Moment Ch 1

Hitting the hard floor of your slummy squat isn’t exactly how you want to start the day but it is far preferable than the dream you’d been trapped in. For a few moments, you breathe in the musty smell of the room. You can almost taste the dust, mildew, and rust on the back of your tongue. You allow your fingers to feel the rough wood of the floor, so different from your cell. The muffled sounds of Bucharest waking up seep through the boarded window, trucks and the soft lapping of Lake Floreasca. Worlds away from the clinical sound of the facility. These little details sink in, permeate every sense, assure you that this is real, that the dream was just that… a dream.

Once the sense of dread seeps away a bit you allow yourself to sit up and lean against the wall. Your phone, of course, slid under the bed when you fell. Sighing, you hold your hand up and beckon it to you, hoping the screen isn’t smashed. With a scrape and a soft whoosh of air, it lands in your upturned palm. For a moment you just stare at the back of the phone a bitter smile rising on your face.

Such a simple thing. Moving something from one location to another. When you were a kid you thought everyone could do it. Until one little girl ran screaming from you on the playground and told the teacher you were a witch. You had given her flowers, from a magnolia tree. She said they were pretty and there was no way to reach them. It was so easy and you were confused why she couldn’t get them for herself… The teacher, of course, didn’t believe the girl but your mom moved you all the same. A simple thing… And Hydra burned your whole world to get to it.

A small popping sound pulls you back. Your hand is in a tight fist around the phone, your knuckles white. If the phone wasn’t broken before, it is now. Groaning you flip it over, sure enough, a spiderweb of cracks lace the screen, though thankfully it’s still working well enough.

It wasn’t as though there was anyone who could contact you. Hydra made sure there was no one left. But you like the feeling of familiarity it gives you, that little connection to the outside world. Mindlessly you scroll through the news. The States are still reeling after the fall of SHIELD/Hydra, lots of discussion about the Avengers, you don’t bother. Instead, you watch cat videos until your stomach will no longer be ignored.

Tearing off your sweat-stained tee you head to the busted bathroom to brush your teeth with what’s left of a water bottle. Despite your best efforts, you catch your reflection. The woman looking back is a stranger. The first thing you’d done when you got away was shave your head, and you’d kept it that way. You let your hand wander over the half inch or so of new growth. No one could use it to hold you down now, but you loved your curls once. Before you could examine the map of scars that laced your chest and abdomen you spit and turn away. No use. Better this way. Y/N was dead. Just like her mother, like Marcus, and Abby, and Nix. They weren’t coming back and neither was she.

Taking a deep breath you begin to wrap the Ace bandages around your chest. Nix had taught you how to do it properly after he’d broken his arm while you were both in college and he needed your help. You silently thank him, like you do most mornings, and hope that wherever he is he doesn’t have to bother with bandages and binders anymore. 

Breasts as flat as you can get them you toss on a grey tee, loose jeans, and the leather jacket you’d stolen in Berlin. If there were Hydra agents looking for you they were looking for a woman. The person reflected back at you is, to the casual observer, a young man.

Sighing, you grab your scarf and cap and head into the bright morning light.

It’s still fairly early but traffic has already begun to flow toward downtown and students of the nearby high school are on their trek to class. You can’t help but smile as you see a couple, no more than 16, steal away into an alley together giggling.

The National History Museum isn’t too far and there’s a Starbucks close by. It’ll be nice to do something so… normal. It doesn’t hurt that it’s easy to lift wallets unnoticed in museums, especially when you don’t have to lay a finger on them. You’d stolen plenty when you were a kid but, but now you wondered why you’d bothered with college and career at all. “Shoulda’ stayed a thief Y/N,” you say softly to no one.

That first sip of caramel macchiato is a better high than just about any drug. You close your eyes and take another, letting the sweet and bitter taste flood your mouth, feeling the sunshine on your little sidewalk table, hearing the traffic and the people pass by. If you allow yourself you can pretend you’re back in Brooklyn, back in the life you’d fought so hard for, waiting on Marcus, he’d always loved Starbucks even though you kept telling him there was better coffee to be had. Right now though, this is perfect.

Halfway through your breakfast sandwich, the feeling of being observed overtakes you. This isn’t new, you’re always afraid someone’s watching, looking for you. But in all this time there had only been one low-level agent in Berlin who’d noticed you and stupidly engaged. You were pretty sure you’d disposed of him before he was able to alert anyone else but who could know. Without moving your head you scan the area, your eyes searching from behind your sunglasses. ‘Just like they taught you,’ a bitter voice chimes in your head. You push the thought away.

You almost miss him, almost convince yourself you’re imagining things again. But there he is in street clothes, ball cap pulled low not unlike your own. There’s something different about him, so different you make yourself doubt for a second, but those eyes, you knew without question. The Soldier.

Instantly your heart begins pounding so hard you can hardly breathe. You keep your eyes on him until you feel the chair begin to shift under you. Everything you’re touching is floating just a bit, your power lashing out in tune with your anxiety. Quickly you snap it in place your coffee spilling from the sudden change in position. “Fuck,” you hiss between clenched teeth. When you look back he’s gone.

‘Stay calm, breathe. Don’t make more of a scene,’ you keep repeating in your head like a mantra. Without making eye contact with the other patrons you pick up your trash and toss it.

The museum. You’ll go there. It may be a great place to pickpocket but it’s shit for killing someone. ‘They won’t kill you,’ the voice in the back of your head reminds you. Death was only for the lucky ones and you had never been what anyone would call lucky.


End file.
